


2-Willing Vessels

by WritestuffLee



Series: The Warrior's Heart, Volume 2, Trials and Errors [2]
Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2000-08-30
Updated: 2000-08-30
Packaged: 2017-12-10 12:42:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/786168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WritestuffLee/pseuds/WritestuffLee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a hard mission, Obi-Wan administers a little love therapy; Qui-Gon learns it's safe to be needy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	2-Willing Vessels

The two Jedi literally staggered into the anteroom of the VOQ provided for them in Haki’s capital city, Miresh. The young Republic military aide escorting them wondered if they would actually manage to remain upright long enough to get out of their filthy clothing before collapsing with exhaustion. He knew their reconnaissance mission had been long and arduous, and the debriefing that followed lengthy and involved. His superiors had been so anxious to get the Jedi’s information about the insurgents’ relative troop strength and positions and weaponry that they hadn’t even allowed the two men time to clean up, and just barely time enough to wolf down something to stave off hunger for the moment.

The younger one’s report had been especially useful because he had gotten in among the Hakish rebels, looking a great deal like them with his pale skin and red hair, and speaking their language like a native. Their numbers, it turned out, were much smaller than either the Hakish home forces or the Republic peacekeepers expected, though the number and type of armaments they had access to was also much more sophisticated. Where they were getting them would also have been a puzzle had the two Jedi not come across an arms shipment coming in from offworld, captured the smuggler and brought him, his ship, and his cargo back to the base.

But it had been the Jedi Master’s report that was most troubling to the Republic’s peacekeeping forces, for he had also managed to infiltrate one of the hidden concentration camps the Hakish government forces were running—and denying the existence of. Inside he had found women and children of the small, rebellious religious minority being systematically raped, starved, and abused, each with stories to tell of being torn from young husbands, brothers, fathers, grandfathers, watching them be executed or taken away, perhaps to other camps, perhaps to a mass grave. This information they had revealed only to the Republic’s officers and would do so again to the Senate on their return to Coruscant.

Not a bad two tenths’ work, the aide thought grudgingly, a little jealous of their selection for it. He’d been itching to get into the action somehow ever since he’d gotten here and instead he was stuck fetching for the General and his guests. And why did they have to call in Jedi for this, especially these two? The older one looked like nothing to mess with, for sure, but the younger one was only about his age. What made him such hot shit? Still he tried hard to keep the jealousy out of his voice. They’d done their job and deserved his respect.

“Master Jinn, Padawan Kenobi, thank you again for your efforts on behalf of the Republic. If you leave your clothing outside the door, I’ll be happy to have it cleaned for you. I’ve already brought your remaining gear here. Is there anything else I can get for you?”

The older Jedi turned to him, looking gaunt with exhaustion, his posture a little slumped, eyes haunted and sad. “No, thank you, Lieutenant. Just a good night’s sleep, or three.” He smiled wearily as the young aide saluted sharply, added “Please don’t hesitate to comm me,” and left them alone.

 

Obi-Wan slipped out of his cloak and dropped it on a nearby chair. Like the rest of him, and his master too, it was badly in need of washing and some gentle care. He turned to Qui-Gon in time to catch the cloak from his master’s hands and put it with his own. Then he knelt and opened the clasps on Qui-Gon’s boots, removing them from his master’s feet as Qui-Gon balanced himself with a touch to Obi-Wan’s cropped head, and set them with their cloaks. Qui-Gon stood with his eyes half-closed, swaying, letting Obi-Wan remove his belt and sash and tunics and strip him out of his leggings and underclothes.

“Oh gods, it’s got a bath,” he sighed, hearing the water running as Obi-Wan led him into the suite’s fresher. The Republic’s forces had taken over one of the older and larger hotels in a city now largely shattered into rubble, using it for offices and quarters. Though surrounded by a mined perimeter and laser wire, it remained largely untouched by the conflict and maintained an air of grand dignity despite its surroundings. Most of the staff had remained at their jobs, and were happy enough to accept Republic cash for their services. The suite allotted the two Jedi was one of the better ones that would have housed dignitaries and celebrities in better times, and now housed visiting officers and officials. Obi-Wan had started the water running in the deep bath with a little Force manipulation as they’d come in the door. Qui-Gon sank into the hot water gingerly, like a man with any number of aches and pains.

Well, Obi-Wan thought, I’ve certainly got my share. Why shouldn’t he? We’ve both been living rough for the last two tenths. Obi-Wan felt certain they had both walked at least 100 kilometers in the last three days alone, without food or shelter and very little water. He left his master soaking in the contoured bath and stripped out of his own clothing, leaving it outside the door as instructed. There, he also found a tray holding hot mealpacs and a large thermopot of tea, and made a note to say something particularly nice in his report about the young non-com aide.

He put a cup of tea within Qui-Gon’s reach and turned on the water in the shower stall. Even though the tub was large, his master’s sprawled form filled and overfilled it, and he lay chest deep in water with arms running along the outside rim, long legs bent and spread, head thrown back, nearly asleep. Obi-Wan tucked a rolled towel beneath his neck and touched his shoulder lightly. Qui-Gon half-opened one eye and fixed him with it, almost glaring. “Yes, Padawan?” His mild tone belied the glare.

“I’m going to get a shower, Master. There’s tea, here,” he indicated the cup, “and mealpacs and more tea in the other room when you’re ready. Once I’m clean, I’ll help you wash your hair. I’d only dirty the water if I got in with you now.”

“I’m afraid that’s all I’m doing as well,” Qui-Gon sighed, closing his eyes again, “and I don’t care. But I may join you in the shower in a moment, if you don’t mind.”

“Not at all,” Obi-Wan replied and stepped into the steaming, streaming water. He was frugal with it, knowing such amenities were usually in short supply in war zones, and stepped out only a few minutes later, rapidly and brutally scrubbed clean, without Qui-Gon having joined him.

His master was, in fact, quite deeply asleep in the cooling bath. Obi-Wan hated to wake him. He could feel Qui-Gon’s exhaustion through their bond and knew it was far more than just the physical sort. What he’d found in the camp had hurt him far more deeply than anyone else realized, and what had hurt Qui-Gon most was having to leave behind those he’d found suffering without knowing what would happen to them. There had been no question of trying to rescue them; getting into the camp unseen and alone had been difficult enough. Qui-Gon had given his report to the Republic intelligence liaison with a cool professionalism that perfectly masked the turmoil and emotional pain his apprentice knew Qui-Gon was feeling as he described what he had seen. Compounding the exhaustion was the fact that this was only the latest mission out of a long and grueling schedule of them.

Since Qui-Gon’s return to active duty following his execution of Xanatos, he and his apprentice had barely touched down on Coruscant before being reassigned and shipped off again, first to a frustrating and potentially explosive treaty negotiation; then to effect the covert retrieval of a downed, ultra-secret experimental ship and its pilot from unfriendly Corporate Sector territory; followed by a tedious and tense strike negotiation; and, finally, here, to carry out a dangerous reconnaissance mission for the military. Even Obi-Wan was beginning to feel the strain. It could only be worse for Qui-Gon, who still carried the greater part of the burden for the success of their missions. Still, he had never seen Qui-Gon quite so drained or dispirited as he seemed now. Obi-Wan wondered if he had not had quite enough time to recover physically and mentally from executing his former apprentice and the injuries he’d sustained doing it.

Obi-Wan reached down between his master’s feet and let some of the water out of the bath, which wasn’t as murky as Qui-Gon feared it would be, though there would be a substantial ring by the time he got out. He added more hot water, knelt behind him on the tile floor, and was starting to carefully wet Qui-Gon’s long fall of hair before washing it, when his master started and woke, looking rather wild-eyed for a moment.

“Shhh,” Obi-Wan hushed him, putting a warm hand on the center of his chest and pressing him back against the tub wall. “Lean back. I’ll wash your hair for you.”

“Let me just wet it so it doesn’t go all over the—”

“There’s a drain in the floor here, Qui. It doesn’t matter. Let me. Just relax.” He kissed Qui-Gon’s forehead and went back to his task. A few minutes later, he poured shampoo into a cupped hand and began to work it through the long, wet lengths of heavy hair as he’d done many times before. Qui-Gon moaned quietly and gratefully as Obi-Wan’s strong fingers worked over his scalp and through the coarse strands, then rinsed them clean again. Finally, Obi-Wan moved the damp and dripping mass over Qui-Gon’s shoulder and gently pushed him upright and started washing his back. His master gave himself over and did nothing more than hold his hair out of the water and move as requested while Obi-Wan gently scrubbed him clean, head to foot, then pulled him out of the tub, rinsed him off in the shower, and dried him too.

“Get into bed and I’ll heat up a mealpac for you. You should eat something decent before you go to sleep.”

It was not a good sign that Qui-Gon did nothing more than follow Obi-Wan’s instructions without either a grumbling protest at the usurpation of his caretaker’s role or a word of thanks for the care. He seemed almost oblivious to Obi-Wan’s presence unless his apprentice addressed him directly. They shared the meal in the suite’s large bed, where Obi-Wan brought them both food and fresh cups of tea, and again Qui-Gon had to be awakened to eat. By the time the younger man had cleared away their plates and utensils, his master was huddled beneath the covers, breathing already deep and even. Obi-Wan curled around him protectively and followed him down into sleep.

 

* * *

 

He woke some hours later, in the absolute blackness of a military blackout, not knowing what had called him out of sleep. No shelling, no sounds of weapons or alarms at all, just the still of the night, a slight but unremarkable disturbance of the Force, and Qui’s—

Qui’s breathing, hitching in his chest.

He rolled over, touched his master’s face with his fingertips and then pressed his lips to the fevered skin, tasting salt and misery. Qui-Gon was dreaming. Well, not really dreaming. Remembering—for Jedi do not dream. Though he did not share Obi-Wan’s ability to see the future, even his master could see the past in his sleep, though Qui-Gon did not do so very often. Obi-Wan knew exactly what he was remembering, too, because he could taste through their bond the salty and metallic pong of sex and blood and fear that went with the camp Qui-Gon had described to him.

“Qui, love, wake up,” he said softly, stroking his master’s cheek with the backs of his knuckles. “Come away from that place. Be here with me now.”

Qui-Gon woke instantaneously, as he usually did, but with far less calm than normal. He gasped and shuddered into wakefulness, clutching the younger man’s arms, but even in the dark Obi-Wan knew he was not yet fully in the moment. He touched his master’s cheek again, then kissed him gently. Qui-Gon started, then took the kiss greedily, pulling Obi-Wan against him, large hands closing on his buttocks almost painfully, mouth devouring him hungrily, grinding their groins together. Another time, Obi-Wan would have been delighted by Qui-Gon’s passion. Now he eased out of the kiss carefully, alarmed.

“Come to me, Qui. Be here,” Obi-Wan said again, more clearly, holding Qui-Gon’s shoulders and shaking him a little.

“I’m here,” Qui-Gon sighed after a moment, and he was, resting his forehead against Obi-Wan’s and loosening his grip, hands stroking lightly over the same flesh he had just bruised. “Thank you, love. I couldn’t get out.”

“The camp?”

Qui-Gon nodded. “One of the women locked away there is . . . she has some Force sensitivity but doesn’t know how to shield. When she touched me, I could feel what had been done to her. Feel the truth of her words written on her body and her heart. She’s very angry.”

“Who could blame her?” Obi-Wan murmured.

“No one,” Qui-Gon acknowledged. “No one. But she’s also angry with me for not helping them.”

“But you are—”

“Not as she sees it. To those women, I’ve just come and gone like another soldier, at least without using them, but still leaving them to their fate. Most of the ones I spoke with pleaded and wept when I left. She cursed me.”

“So she was broadcasting?”

“No. Sending. Very purposefully.” Qui-Gon shuddered. “One of the soldiers is . . . using her, now. She was sending what she felt. All that darkness.” The last was said in a choked whisper.

“And she wants you to know.” Obi-Wan’s voice went hard with a protective anger.

“No, Padawan,” Qui-Gon said quickly. “You mustn’t blame her. It’s not malicious. But she has a focus now, someone else who can know her suffering. She’s afraid we’ll—I’ll forget, like everyone else.”

“You won’t.”

“But she doesn’t know that. It’s all right, Padawan. It will fade. She’s not that powerful and we’re not bonded in any way. But I sensed her presence from far outside the camp, and she sensed mine. She’s just so frightened, and hurt almost beyond hurt anymore.” His voice thickened. “And I can’t stop it. I can’t help her.” And broke finally, at the end.

“Oh Qui,” Obi-Wan whispered helplessly, holding him, thinking _I wish she knew you like I do. I wish she had the comfort of knowing you’ll do everything you can._ He held Qui-Gon tightly, the older man’s head tucked under his chin in a reversal of their usual position, long hair fallen across his face like a veil. His master had remarked more than once on what a burden Obi-Wan’s ability to see the future was, but Obi-Wan thought this tenderness of Qui-Gon’s was worse. Other people’s pain seared him like a brand.

But this time seemed different. Their bond pulsed with frustration and sadness and a bone-deep pain Qui-Gon felt too often for the injured and wronged they met on their missions, but also with a certain amount of cloying . . . foulness. There was nothing else Obi-Wan could call it. It was almost as though Qui-Gon were being filled with the woman’s pain and her abuser’s cruelty, feeling both first- and not second-hand. Obi-Wan felt the tension in Qui-Gon’s muscles, the small movements he was making as though trying to get away from something, almost writhing the way people do when they hurt or are trying to wriggle out of bonds. “Beast,” he snarled softly in a voice not quite his own. “Beast! Let go—”

“Master!” Obi-Wan shook him. “Qui, stay here, stay with me. Can’t you shield her out?”

Qui-Gon shuddered and seemed to come back to himself, eyes almost luminous in the darkness. “Not in sleep. I can’t, I haven’t the—I’m so tired, Padawan.” Obi-Wan had never heard him sound so hopeless or exhausted.

“What can I do, Love? Let me help.”

The older man shook his head against Obi-Wan’s chest. “There’s nothing—”

“There must be!” he insisted. “I want to help. Tell me what you need.”

“Sleep. Distance. Forgetfulness.” He laughed ruefully. “A new heart. This one seems a little worn out.”

“Take mine,” Obi-Wan said, putting Qui-Gon’s hand over it. “I can’t give you distance, or a sleep she wouldn’t wake you from, but I can give you forgetfulness. Take my heart, take my strength, take my love. Let’s be the antithesis of what’s happening to her.” He rolled Qui-Gon over onto his back, straddled him and began to kiss him: his lips, his eyelids, his cheek, his forehead, his eyebrows, the tip of his nose, back to his mouth for a deeper kiss, while Qui-Gon’s hands slid up his back, down to his waist, over his thighs, onto his ass again and gripped him tightly, lifting him, kneading hard. Obi-Wan felt a pulse of hot lust through their bond, felt his cock filling in response.

It had been almost a halfyear since Qui-Gon had carved the Danjii characters into his back to help rebuild their broken training bond, and much seemed strangely new between them still, most of all their renewed desire for each other, which had taken on a quite different tone since then. They had made love most of that night, the way they had during the earliest days of their affair, but more tenderly, mapping the pleasure centers of each other’s bodies, learning each other anew. It had begun on their meditation mats, encompassed a number of other surfaces both horizontal and vertical—the wall of their shower stall against which Qui-Gon had pressed Obi-Wan, hoisting him up to his own height and loving him deep and slow as the water sluiced over both of them, Obi-Wan’s cries echoing against the tile; the couch on which Obi-Wan had finally finished what he’d started earlier in the evening, taking the length of Qui-Gon’s cock into his throat and milking him dry, their groans of pleasure almost indistinguishable; the low table on which they’d dined so often become the setting of a feast made of Obi-Wan’s body, his nipples and navel, the hollow of his throat and his cock, the globes of his ass, the V of flesh above them, the opening of his body, the rest of the skin between painted with dabs of honey and cream and slices of sweet fruits, all of it licked off in long, slow sweeps of Qui-Gon’s tongue, or nibbled away until Obi-Wan was squirming and panting; the chairback over which Obi-Wan had bent his master’s tall frame to more easily lick and probe the puckered opening with tongue and fingers, and the seat over which he was then tenderly folded, making the long legs irrelevant when Obi-Wan knelt behind and entered him fully for the first time in so long, Qui-Gon shuddering to completion, blind with ecstasy and crying out as he seldom did, Obi-Wan buried deeply inside—and ended finally, in their bed, at nearly dawn, where they had both done nothing more than fallen entwined into an exhausted, sated, relieved sleep.

Since those first eighteen days or so, they had had little time to think about the relationship itself and had fallen back into its working and teaching aspects without difficulty. The personal areas of it, however, had been given short shrift of late. They had made love a few times, tenderly and a little tentatively, as though they truly were starting anew, but Obi-Wan missed some of Qui-Gon’s passion and fire and need. Tonight, he sensed it near the surface again and thought he might see it rekindled, that it might be something of a release for his master and lover.

Qui-Gon’s hands were hard on his ass, fingers like iron digging into the firm muscle. Obi-Wan sank his own into Qui-Gon’s mass of damp hair, leaned down and bit his earlobe. “Anything you want, love,” he whispered. “Anything. Hard and fast, slow and sweet. Suck you or fuck you. I’ll be your top or your bottom. Tell me what you need. Let me shut her out. Let me give you this.” Obi-Wan touched him, fingers caressing, finding his hard cock and closing over it.

His lover bucked and groaned beneath him, gasping, giving in, letting himself take Obi-Wan’s gift. “Not here. Not this way. Too much like . . . Stand up.”

Obediently and with a little tremor in his legs, Obi-Wan got out of bed and stood waiting in the dark as Qui-Gon did the same. They could see nothing of each other, but the emotions coming through the bond were far more intense than usual—and far more conflicted. Qui-Gon was both aroused and sickened, not by his young lover, but by the feelings he could not shut out: the man’s careless lust and the pleasure of intimidation and the woman’s fear and revulsion and shame. Underneath that was his own pleasure in Obi-Wan’s body and his love for the man who gave it, but those feelings were nearly smothered now.

Qui-Gon stood behind Obi-Wan and drew him back so they were skin to skin from buttocks to shoulders, Qui-Gon’s cock hard and slick in the small of Obi-Wan’s back. Large, blunt-fingered hands raked over him from groin to nipples and settled there, pinching and rolling as Qui-Gon rubbed against him hard, as though using Obi-Wan’s body to center himself. Obi-Wan could feel his master trying to control the impulses that filled him, to channel them into something less hurtful than the woman was enduring and being only partially successful. He pushed Obi-Wan’s feet apart, then very slowly bent the younger man over across his arm and growled, “Grab your ankles.”

Obi-Wan did as he was told. Blood rushed to his head and one of Qui-Gon’s fingers, slick with saliva, pierced him like a dart. It didn’t hurt, but it was quick and somehow savage as were the motions that stretched and opened him. Soon another finger stroked him inside, quickly, flicking against his prostate and sending tremors of pleasure through him, scissoring him open with a trembling urgency. He breathed as deeply as he could in such a pose and relaxed against the arm around his waist, unresisting, sending his love and pleasure through their bond. Three fingers and the motion became a twisting in-and-out that would have hurt without the Force and would certainly leave him sore in the morning. He locked his trembling knees, moaning, fighting the urge to rock and thrust back onto that delicious penetrating thickness.

Their bond pulsed with a fierce need, something almost like fury, tinged with despair and futility and a heavy overtone of lust, and Obi-Wan wondered how much of this was Qui-Gon and how much what he was feeling of the man and woman in the camp. Then he felt something splash—once, twice, again, again—against his back and mingle with the trickles of sweat forming there, knew it was tears, knew Qui-Gon needed this release for all the darkness inside him, no matter whose it was, and was glad to give it. More than glad. He reveled in Qui-Gon’s need, that that need was for him, his body, his heart, for everything Obi-Wan had offered him.

A fourth finger and a trickle of Force easing him open, making him slick. The movements stopped entirely with half Qui-Gon’s fist inside him to the third knuckle, as though his master had just realized what he was doing. Obi-Wan’s muscles pulsed down hard, stretched to the point of protest, his legs trembling, and he was breathing so hard that he was dizzy. He wondered if Qui-Gon would keep going, if he could take it. He wanted to be opened like this, laid bare, filled, plundered, taken. Touched deeply like this, by his lover. His heart pounded, his cock twitched at the thought. “Yes,” he heard himself hiss, pushing back. “Yes, yes, yes, yes . . .”

But Qui-Gon’s fingers slipped out of him and the older man bore him to his knees, trembling as hard as he was. They stayed still for a moment, then Qui-Gon groaned as though he were in pain, drew back, and plunged into him, impaling him. Obi-Wan cried out wordlessly as Qui-Gon filled and began to thrust into him with such unrestrained wildness that Obi-Wan found it hard to stay where he was on the slippery woven rug. Qui-Gon held his hips hard, but Obi-Wan’s hands slid across the carpet each time his lover drove into him, until it felt as though he were scrambling to get away rather than to stay where he was. His knees and hands would be rugburned later. He didn’t care. His lover was between his legs, inside him, fucking him, on fire for him. That’s all that mattered.

“Qui . . .” he moaned, voice a deep, hoarse rumble. “So— good— so— good— good— good— good— good—” each word punctuated by a deep, frenzied thrust.

Through it all, Qui-Gon said nothing, made no sound except the harsh gasps of his breathing. Finally, finally Obi-Wan heard a snarl, felt the grip on his hips tighten even more, felt Qui-Gon lunge into him one last time and stay there, emptying himself in shuddering, hot, liquid spasms. “Obi-Wan!” he howled. “Oh gods Padawan! Padawan— Padawan. . . .” voice falling to a hoarse whisper as Qui-Gon collapsed onto his hands over Obi-Wan, shaking as though with fever.

Obi-Wan hovered trembling on the brink of his own orgasm for a moment, then pressed behind his balls to quell it, and took the full weight of Qui-Gon’s body on his back, lowering them both to the floor and then onto their sides. He wanted more tonight. His lover needed more.

 

Qui-Gon blinked in the night, feeling the darkness and hot lust inside dissipate, and rolled away a moment later, onto his back, stunned, chest heaving. She was gone and he was empty, emptied and wrung out of more than passion. He’d been left nearly as emotionless as after a deep meditation. He could not, he found, even muster the regret he should feel for using Obi-Wan as he had, but he needed to at least show it. He touched Obi-Wan’s leg, gasped, “I’m so sorry, Padawan,” and turned his face away, sleep creeping paralytically into his limbs and slurring his words.

He heard his young lover sit up beside him, hoped vaguely he had sense enough not to kneel on what must be very raw knees, if they felt at all like his own. Fingers and thumb captured his chin and turned Qui-Gon’s face back toward his apprentice in the dark, as though they could see each other. “I’m not sorry, Qui-Gon,” he said gently, stroking over Qui-Gon’s feverish skin. “I wish you weren’t hurting, but I love it when you let go. I’m not as fragile as you think I am, My Master, _iji aijinn,_ ” _my lover_. Their bond was filled with the truth of Obi-Wan’s words. Love and warmth and care shone through it like a candle in a window. Rugburned, brutally stretched and sore, yet something in his young lover was yet deeply content with this . . . act, one that Qui-Gon felt was nearer rape than lovemaking.

“I should not have used you like this,” the older man said, but it was a half-hearted protest at best. It was time to take his lover at his word. He had no strength to do anything else.

“I gave you permission,” Obi-Wan replied matter-of-factly. “You weren’t using me. As far as I’m concerned, we were making love, and it was wonderful. Now come,” Obi-Wan said, closing the matter and pulling him upright before he could say anything else foolish, “into bed with you. You keep telling me you’re too old for floors. I’ll get a cloth.”

It surprised them both that Qui-Gon was not asleep again by the time Obi-Wan came back to bed from cleaning himself up, bringing a warm damp cloth with him. But he wanted Obi-Wan’s presence beside him, wanted that warmth and safety at his back. As he had earlier in the evening, Qui-Gon let Obi-Wan wipe him down tenderly and pull the covers back up. The lithe, warm, bare body nestled in beside him, spooning against his back. “Better?” he asked quietly, brushing Qui-Gon’s hair out of the way and kissing his neck.

“Yes, love,” Qui-Gon murmured truthfully. “Thank you. I wonder, sometimes, how I managed without you.” He picked up Obi-Wan’s hand and kissed the palm softly, then tucked the young man’s arm beneath his own and interlaced their fingers over his heart.

_//Badly, from the look of things,//_ Qui-Gon thought he heard Obi-Wan thinking. Aloud, the young man said only, “You’re not brooding, are you?”

“No, love,” Qui-Gon chuckled a little ruefully. “You know me too well. I can’t get away with it anymore.” And it was true that he couldn’t. Obi-Wan was such a bright, quick flame that the shadows in Qui-Gon fled and disappeared under his scrutiny and care. Perhaps that was for the best. He reached back and pulled Obi-Wan a little closer until his half-hard cock was nestled against Qui-Gon’s butt. “You didn’t come?” he said, surprised.

“It’s all right—”

Qui-Gon rolled over and pulled him into an embrace. “What do you want, love?” he murmured in his padawan’s ear and kissed his face softly, repeatedly. Obi-Wan’s skin seemed always to taste vaguely sweet, as though he were a walking dessert. “Let me give to you as you’ve given to me. Just tell me what you want.”

“Let me love you, Qui,” Obi-Wan replied, returning the kisses between phrases. “Let me in. Just like this, under the covers, slow and sweet. Let me inside.”

Qui-Gon kissed him once more, deeply, and shifted in their bed until they were spooned back to front again. He felt Obi-Wan nuzzle into his hair, inhaling, rubbing his face in it. Moments like this reminded him why he kept it long; it so clearly gave his lover great pleasure. Obi-Wan sighed and ran his fingers over Qui-Gon’s chest and hips and flanks, stroking, letting his lips follow. This was so much the opposite of what they’d just done: unhurried, without desperation or despair, heated with the low flames of love and desire, not bestial lust.

Some of the fever left Qui-Gon’s skin and some of the ache left his heart. Obi-Wan was right. He had done what he could and the action’s inadequacies did not make him a failure. That this wonderful, bright flame could love him so seemed to prove somehow that he had some worth in the larger scheme of things. And he would not forget, either this moment, or his duty.

He felt Obi-Wan prop himself up and those large fingers begin to stroke into the cleft in his ass. Somewhere, he seemed to have found something slippery and slicked his fingers with it, perhaps bringing it back from the fresher with him. The touch was teasing, not quite reaching the puckered muscle, until Qui-Gon was rocking back into it, wanting it. Obi-Wan’s fingers crept closer as Qui-Gon rocked his hips until, almost by accident, one slid inside and crooked against his prostate. A flush of warmth and pleasure spread through him and he heard himself moan.

It seemed strange to hear that sound from his own throat after so many years, but a dam seemed to have burst in him somewhere tonight. Obi-Wan knew him as a restrained and quiet lover, but with Mace and others he had been anything but. Like the young man loving him now, he had thrashed and shouted, letting the ecstasy of orgasm have its way with him, letting it fill and empty him by turns like a tide of water. Mace, he suspected, had always thought of his lack of restraint as a weakness unbecoming a Jedi. But then, Mace had apparently been born with something about the size of Yoda’s gimer stick up his ass, Qui-Gon reflected sourly.

Obi-Wan’s finger stroked over that sweet spot again and he forgot his reminiscences and let out whatever sounds rose in him with the feeling. His lover leaned over and kissed his neck, nibbled his ear. “Tell me more, Qui. Tell me how much you like it. Let me hear you. Don’t hold back.”

He didn’t. Another finger joined the first and Qui-Gon let his pleasure evidence itself in little moans and gasps, bucking back into Obi-Wan’s touch. “Kiss me,” he demanded, turning up his face. “Kiss me, love.” And Obi-Wan’s mouth was there on his own, sweet and agile tongue slipping into his mouth, mirroring the motions of his fingers. Then he let his open mouth slide over Qui-Gon’s throat, warm breath heating his skin, tongue flicking out to taste and lick, down over his neck, over the top and back of his shoulder. The skin he touched seemed more alive than the places he hadn’t and retained the sensation of soft lips and warm breath against them even when they were gone. Obi-Wan burrowed his bristly head under the covers and drew his mouth across Qui-Gon’s ribs and under his arm. Qui-Gon turned a little at the waist and Obi-Wan’s mouth found his nipple, licking and sucking and nipping.

“Don’t stop,” Qui-Gon murmured, stroking his fingers through Obi-Wan’s hair, feeling the aliveness spreading through him, as though Obi-Wan’s mouth were everywhere. He pinched and teased the other nipple himself, but the sensation was not the same. Obi-Wan licked and sucked the nub of flesh, sending a wash of warmth into Qui-Gon’s groin. His muscles clenched around his lover’s fingers, “Oh gods Obi-Wan,” he groaned. “Want you, now. Please, love. Fill me. Love me.”

Those fingers withdrew and Qui-Gon felt a slick hard crown pressed against him. He breathed deeply and opened himself, Obi-Wan sliding inside without resistance. Qui-Gon slid his free arm behind Obi-Wan’s back, torso still twisted, and Obi-Wan’s mouth closed on his nipple again, suckling as he rocked against his lover. Qui-Gon cried out, feeling his cock fill and harden again. Obi-Wan’s free hand slid over his flanks, across his belly, found his cock bumping against his navel and closed around the shaft, thumb circling the crown.

Qui-Gon thought perhaps he might die, but more quietly than before. The last orgasm had torn him open the way he had nearly torn Obi-Wan open, releasing something that was clawing to get out. Now he felt himself filled and emptied by turns, pleasure washing through him as though he lay on a strand being caressed by waves, each one reaching a little higher. “Love you, Qui,” Obi-Wan murmured, tongue circling his nipple, cock filling him, moving slowly in and out, nudging his prostate. “Is it good?”

“Yes, yes, yes, oh yes, love. So good, so good,” Qui-Gon moaned, giving himself up to it the way he had to Obi-Wan’s hands earlier in the night. Their bond filled with love and warmth and a deep, sweet desire that lulled him as gently as the water in the bath had. Obi-Wan’s touch in and on his body became simply a part of his general awareness, like his breathing, his heartbeat; he felt sleep stealing over him, content to be with Obi-Wan this way.

He must have dozed for a little time and came awake gradually, Obi-Wan still moving slowly in him, lips ghosting over his neck and shoulder, fist sliding gently up and down his cock. He reached back and caressed his lover’s hip, sighing, feeling more tranquil and calm and loved than he had let himself feel in . . . longer than he could say. Obi-Wan leaned over and kissed him tenderly. “Come for me, love,” Qui-Gon said quietly. “Come inside me. I want to feel you.”

“You’re sure? I could just go on loving you . . .”

“I could happily grow old with you loving me like this, My Padawan. But morning comes and we leave on the morrow. Come for me. And then we’ll sleep. Give me that last pleasure.”

“And more,” Obi-Wan said, beginning to stroke more quickly and deeply inside him, hand working Qui-Gon’s cock in the same rhythm.

From the plateau they had reached, it was only a little climb to orgasm. Qui-Gon came first, groaning like a great tree being felled, cum filling Obi-Wan’s cupped hand. He spilled it onto Qui-Gon’s hip and rubbed it into his own shaft, slid his arm around Qui-Gon’s waist and rocked against him, harder and faster, a moan rising in his throat. Qui-Gon felt his lover’s shaft working inside him, slithering across his prostate, stretching him, gliding back and plunging into the tight and secret place and into Qui-Gon’s core where he belonged. “Oh, Qui,” Obi-Wan moaned. “So good, so tight, so hot . . .” Then he gave a little cry and slid home once more, arching and thrashing against his lover’s back, and Qui-Gon felt his lover pulse inside, filling him with liquid heat. He cried out too, hand closing on Obi-Wan’s ass, wanting to hold him there always, or for as long as he could, to keep this moment of completion for both of them.

But it drifted away as every moment does, and all that was left was the two of them lying together in a strange bed in a war zone, falling into sleep as dawn crept out from beneath the blackout shades. Obi-Wan snuggled against him, warm and languid and content, and Qui-Gon thought that was more than enough.

 

* * *

 

When the door chimed some time later, it was the younger one who answered it, so freshly showered his hair was still wet, but fully and immaculately dressed in clean clothing from their packs. Only his bare feet slightly marred the picture of a perfect Jedi.

“I’ve brought you and your master breakfast, Padawan Kenobi,” the aide remarked unnecessarily, holding a steaming tray. “Was your clothing delivered this morning?”

“Yes, thank you, Lieutenant, in sparkling condition,” Kenobi replied, smiling, taking the tray from him and setting it on the table. “And thank you so much for the mealpacs last night as well. We were both starving.”

“I thought you might be. Your transport is here and leaves at 0730. Can I have your packs loaded aboard?”

“That would be a kindness, yes. Thank you.”

The Lieutenant picked up their luggage, such as it was, assuming that the older Jedi was still in the shower. The bed’s rumpled sheets would not have caught his attention at all had it not been for the whiff of . . . sex? . . . rising from them, and an area on the rug that looked freshly scrubbed. They’d had energy enough for sex? He remembered the Jedi Master’s haggard exhaustion and shook his head a little. Amazing.

Then Jinn emerged from the fresher in nothing but a towel and, unruffled by the aide’s presence, bowed gracefully to him, looking as serene and rested as a man just back from a quarter’s vacation. The change was astonishing, and it wasn’t even that he looked well-fucked. Jinn just didn’t seem the same man. The aide wondered what kind of mind whammy Jedi sex involved.

“Lieutenant. Thank you for your meticulous and generous care.” His voice had a gentle lilt to it and his eyes sparkled.

“My pleasure, Master Jinn.” The commendation made him feel like he might actually be doing something necessary and worthwhile and made him walk a little straighter, though it wasn’t something he reflected on until after he was out of the room. He heard the two of them laughing behind the closed door and wondered if all the padawans were required to service their masters like this, then decided he was glad enough to be where he was, doing what he was.


End file.
